


sweet-faced ones with nothing left inside

by thinkatory



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Brother/Brother Incest, Captivity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), I'm not kidding about the body horror, Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stranger Danny Stoker, technically necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: Danny looksso happy. Tim looks at him for a long moment, then curls back up into the costumes, eyes shut firmly, refusing to speak. Danny's hand touches his shoulder, down his arm, then Danny is behind him, stroking his face down to his neck; his palm feels wrong, warm but like the mild heat of a windowpane under bright sunlight, not pliable with the bend of bones and joints behind it. Tim wonders, maybe, if he blocks out everything, this will all go away.
Relationships: Danny Stoker/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	sweet-faced ones with nothing left inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



> You want inhuman body horror? I got some inhuman body horror for you.
> 
> Title from Radiohead's "Identikit."

Tim lays silently, naked, in the pile of costumes that's passed as his bed in the days since the Unknowing, a single lightbulb hovering some feet above his head. It's impossible to know for sure how much time has passed – the Stranger's people have him in a plain building in a room with no windows – but he's hoping it's just been days. The less time that's passed, the more likely rescue is still coming.

The injuries seem to be fading more with every day. It's not that Tim is ungrateful that he's not dead, but setting off a bomb with your own two hands should probably at least make you closer to dead than he currently is. As of now, he's mostly just intensely uncomfortable, and aches. The good news is that there's no reason to move. He just waits for one of the dolls to bring him a single sandwich every day, his only real way to mark time.

It's the same sandwich every time: thinly sliced cheese, a thick slice of tomato, and nothing else. It's almost thoughtful, he thinks, though he's still insanely hungry.

The dolls didn't listen when he sniped at them about getting dinner, so it looks like this is all he's getting.

He's not dead, for some reason. So far, this isn't worse than dead. It's just sort of inanely terrible.

The door opens; Tim blinks a bit, shifting to face the doll who must be there to bring a sandwich, and goes deadly still as his brain simultaneously attempts to reject and scream the truth into him all at once.

"Tim," the creature says, and twists its familiar face into a smile. "I've missed you."

Tim's too panicked to breathe, and backs up as best he can into the pile of costumes as the creature with his brother's face kneels with the faint sound of plastic bending to get closer to him. Tim makes himself look into the brightly painted facsimile of Danny's face, the swoop of vivid blue over his black, flat eyes, the attempt at blush across its, his, its cheeks, and sweet red paint across the lips. What passes as skin is painted an off-white that almost looks a sickly human shade, but one Danny never wore himself.

It's easier to take stock than it is to let the reality sink in.

"This is some sick game," Tim clarifies, and steadies his voice as he goes on. "Like with Sasha, you're, you're just some wrong photocopy – "

"It's me," Danny says, voice soft. "How can I make you understand?"

"No." Tim can't look away, though. "No, I'm not doing this."

Danny glances away, mouth twisted into something resembling mild frustration and confusion, then he says, "You remember when I accidentally crashed that date you had with that Maria girl? The gorgeous one. You had your hand up her skirt." His lips turn up into something like glee. "Pretty sure you still fucked her after. You've always been a slut."

Tim's stomach wrenches horribly in his abdomen. "I did," he manages.

Danny looks _so happy_. Tim looks at him for a long moment, then curls back up into the costumes, eyes shut firmly, refusing to speak. Danny's hand touches his shoulder, down his arm, then Danny is behind him, stroking his face down to his neck; his palm feels wrong, warm but like the mild heat of a windowpane under bright sunlight, not pliable with the bend of bones and joints behind it. Tim wonders, maybe, if he blocks out everything, this will all go away.

"I saved you," Danny says, still behind him, and his hand pets into Tim's hair. "They wanted to kill you, you know, because you ended our ritual and killed so many of us. But I convinced them to give you to me."

 _This isn't happening._ Tim ignores the unnatural, fluting sound of Danny's otherwise unmistakable voice.

"I love you, Tim," Danny says, and Tim retches despite himself, unable to handle this. Danny ignores that, apparently. "I want to prove it to you. I want to give you what you always wanted but were scared to ask for. Now's the time. No one will know, no one will care. It's just us here. You and me."

"What," Tim starts, then curses himself for engaging.

Danny's leaning against Tim's shoulder, now, and his mouth brushes Tim's neck, insinuating, but also damp only with the makeup. Tim's breaths come shaky now, and Danny shakes his head against Tim's shoulder, creeping his inhuman hand down Tim's chest and around Tim's cock.

Tim stiffens, resists, but Danny holds him firm, fondling him idly, his chest unmoving without a racing pulse or breath against Tim's back as panicked breaths rock Tim's body. Tim buries his face against the costumes and shifts uncomfortably at the contact of Danny's now warmer half-flesh, half-plastic hand against his cock.

"We both know you wanted this," Danny whispers softly. "You just thought, 'Danny would never. Danny would never want me.'" His grip tightens on Tim's cock. "I would have, Tim. I would have, over and over again."

Tim presses his eyes shut as tightly as he can manage, and begs himself not to react, not ever, not physically, not verbally. Danny seems satisfied enough with what he's managed so far, and uses his other hand to start to spread Tim's arse cheeks apart.

That's enough. Tim scrambles away as best he can, and stares at Danny. His mouth is smeared, and Tim realizes that the red must be marked across his neck by now. "Danny," he tries.

Danny's emphasized painted dark brown eyebrows look furrowed now. "Tim," he says. "We have the rest of our lives to have fun. To be ourselves. What's so wrong about that?"

"You're not yourself." Tim can't look away. "You're not Danny."

"Of course I'm Danny," Danny says, and laughs, a bizarre ring to it that sends a chill through Tim's body. "Why don't we give it a try? If you don't like it, we'll try something else."

Tim wonders how he can get out of here, how you can kill a doll monster even if it's your brother, apparently. He scans the room for weapons as best he can, but Danny's moving towards him, dragging something behind him along the floor. Tim hits the wall and the edge of the costume pile, and releases a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," Tim decides, some short and small resistance before the inevitable.

"Yeah," Danny says, utterly cheerful. He seizes Tim and shoves him onto his stomach, yanking his arse up. "One minute," he sing-songs.

"What," Tim forces out, and looks back in a defiant motion only to freeze to his spot.

Danny has some kind of stitched-up, half-human, half-plastic dildo in his hand, and a needle and thread already embedded into his flesh where his crotch had previously been all stitched up doll smoothness. "I think you'll like this one," Danny says conversationally. Tim can't look away as Danny begins to stitch the base of the cock methodically onto himself. Each stitch, each puncture, hits Tim a little harder, and he forces himself to remain even the slightest bit calm, until the cock is attached to his dead doll brother, stiff and large.

Danny smiles. "We're going to enjoy this," he assures Tim, and gently pushes him facefirst back against the costumes, rubbing the cock against his arse in a movement that pushes a satisfied sound out of Danny's probably plastic throat.

"Fuck you," Tim repeats, softer this time, and tenses his hands into fists into the costumes in front of him as the cock presses inside of him. It's slick, at least, but the stitches along the cock holding it together, the horrible textures melded together, are too obvious and rough inside of him. He does his best to hold it together, but there's _still more_ pressing inside of him, and he shudders out a breath.

"You're so good," Danny says, but he's laughing as he says it, and suddenly Danny's got the whole cock inside of him; Tim can feel the little stitches against his arse now, every particle of him alight and awake and sensitive in his horror. "Ready, Tim?"

Tim makes a flat sound. Maybe it's best to just get this over with. Maybe Danny will kill him after. These creatures are capricious on their best days, right? He just has to –

Danny starts to rock the cock in and out of Tim's arse, and it drags the stitches through him. Tim shudders before he can help it, and Danny whispers, "Shh, shh," and strokes his fingers into Tim's hair to give him a light, friendly tug. In a flash, Tim remembers Danny shushing him in tunnels as they explored, the sharp but keen tone, the flash of fascination in what Tim could see of Danny's face, and he just barely starts to snap.

There's the faint creak of plastic bending as Danny starts to fuck harder into Tim, and he laughs breathily. "I can feel you," he murmurs. "I've always wanted to feel you."

Tim doesn't know if he could speak even if he wanted to, but he tries to yank away in one desperate motion before Danny laughs and pins him back down. "You want it rough?" he jokes.

"No," Tim says, breathless, desperate. "No, please."

"I never could get a read on that," Danny says, still soft, still touching Tim's hair and cheek as though the feel of flesh with hard plastic arced underneath is somehow comforting in the least. "Whether or not you were a hard fucker or a loving one."

Tim needs to detach from all this. But he can't. The ridges of the stitches rubbing inside of him are sparking pain and confusion too deep into him for him to let go and black out or something. "Depends," he tries to deadpan.

"Tell me how you want it," Danny whispers.

He doesn't. Oh, he doesn't.

"Just do it," Tim makes himself say.

Danny makes a dismissive sound, obviously unimpressed, and digs his sharp fingers into Tim's hip and plow into Tim's arse harder, until Tim's teeth are gritting and rattling, and he can't help but release awful, helpless sounds. Finally Danny's hand seeks around his cock and starts to jerk him, and he realizes, maybe, that Danny can never come.

This could take a long time. Longer if Tim doesn't put some kind of narratively satisfying ending to at least one rape. He tries to breathe, tries to think, tries to allow himself to just feel a hand around his cock, bizarre and unsettling as it is, and he hates himself as his cock begins to rise.

"Oh," Danny murmurs, pleased, and slows down to fuck deeper into Tim as he keeps on pulling on Tim's cock. Tim bites back any sound that tries to escape his mouth, nearly to the point of pain and bleeding, and Danny hits his prostate just one too many times for Tim to be able to hold back. He comes with an agonized sound and sinks down against the costumes, wrecked for just a moment.

"Wow," Danny comments, clearly pleased. "That was a good start."

"What," Tim gets out, but begins to shake as Danny pulls out the stitched up cock with a slow motion, despite himself.

Danny shrugs. "I have more here."

 _More what?_ But Tim already knows. "Danny. Please." He tries to keep his tone level. "You've... you've made your point."

"My point?" Danny asks, quizzical.

"You've, you've proven what you needed to prove," Tim clarifies, still desperately trying to keep it together.

Danny looks surprised, and Tim just stares at him for a moment. So much of the makeup Danny covered himself with, near head to toe, is smudged and uneven, baring stitched skin over some visible pale white plastic. Tim touches his own skin and draws back fingers marked with off-white and bright blue paint, silent as he stares down at them.

"This is all for you," Danny promises, quiet.

"Just kill me," Tim says, holding Danny's dead gaze as best he can. "I'm asking as your brother, just – "

"No," Danny cuts him off with, easy as anything. "I saved you." His smile is off-kilter, red swiped across the side of his face. "You're mine."

"Danny wouldn't hurt me," Tim insists. "If you're really Danny – "

"I'm not hurting you," Danny retorts, his smile twisting to something more confused and verging on anger.

Tim tries to focus. "You know me." He watches Danny's face. "You know I'm not the kind of person to be anyone's pet."

"Stop," Danny suggests, tone curt and a flash of irritation in his face. "Stop being so... so shortsighted. So _human_." He shakes his head and advances on Tim, pressing a hand to his throat with slight pressure and clearly restrained immense strength as he goes on. "You have the rest of your life to be with me. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Do I have a choice?" Tim stares up into Danny's face, his tone brittle.

"One more time," Danny presses, terse but steady, his fingers lightly stroking Tim's throat now. "One more time, let me prove this to you, Tim."

There's nothing sincere or real in those flat, black eyes. This thing is Danny, with everything Tim loved about him stripped out and replaced with stitches and plastic. You can't trust monsters. Tim knows that.

He has no choice. He says nothing. Danny starts to casually undo the stitches on the current cock. "You pick the next one," he suggests to Tim.

Silently, Tim looks into the box, and tosses an average-sized, heavy, far less stitched-up cock in Danny's direction.

Danny just smiles, cheerful as hell, as he begins to stitch again, looking for all the world as though he's finally found satisfaction.


End file.
